Coming Home
by LuvEwan
Summary: After a long, traumatic mission, Knight Obi-Wan is allowed to come home. AU featuring Qui-Gon Jinn. COMPLETE.
1. Default Chapter

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Coming Home

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By LuvEwan

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After a long, traumatic assignment, Knight Obi-Wan is allowed to come home.

AU.

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pg-13

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disclaimer: all recognizable characters and settings are strictly the property of George Lucas. I receive no profit _whatsoever_ from the sharing of these works.

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The lights were dimmed to a trembling glow, spilling warm amber incandescence on the huddled figure. 

The din of mechanical beeping, steady and constant, permeated the silence. When he took a step closer, the heart monitor worked faster to track the frantic beating.

Mace shook his head slowly. "Shh…" He soothed, and reached out a hand. 

Obi-Wan quivered beneath his thin sleepclothes. He sat on the hospital cot, slumped back propped against the wall, knees pressed to his chest. 

His head was bowed, a curtain of soft ginger concealing weary eyes. 

But the bruises, dark splotches of violet and blue, were not so easily hidden. They stood out on paled ivory skin, grim reminders of blows unblocked, of pain endured. 

Other injuries, some far more serious, lay under the shroud of clean, sterile hospital gown. They all were treated with the precision and care expected of the renowned Temple healers. Bacta was applied to each laceration, spread coolly over every tender contusion. Shattered bones were mended, fever reduced.

But now, as the mahogany-skinned Council member studied the Knight, he saw that something in Obi-Wan sorely needed to be tended.

Abruptly, a pair of cerulean eyes drifted up to him, bejeweled gaze haunted with the shadow of melancholy. Dark crescents rimmed those eyes. His breaths came in ragged pants. His fingers curled tight around the loose sleeves, shaking.

Mace touched a swelled, pallid cheek.

Obi-Wan flinched, fine beads of moisture tracing a path down his face. He shuddered weakly. 

It was a devastating sight. Kenobi was perhaps the most valued Knight currently in the Order. His inherent skill with a lightsaber was only rivaled with his intellectual prowess. He approached situations with caution, courage and a dry wit. Charm sparkled in his distinct, young visage. Compassion flowed through his veins. 

He was the epitome of a Jedi.

And, the very definition of a good man.

But this form huddled in the dark, drained of his natural, beautiful light, was a shell. A mockery of the true soul buried beneath the suffering.

The healers could alleviate his discomfort, could cure his aches…

Yet, in Master Windu's memory, there was only one way to ease the malady afflicting this gentle mind.

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Qui-Gon Jinn sat on the sofa, eyes fixed lazily on the fraying edge, where threads had loosened over the many years of its use.

Stretching on its length, his large frame snug but comfortable, listening to his first apprentice type furiously on a mission report that needed completing, complaining of everything from the stiff surface of the desk chair to the slow computer functions…

Watching his second student, the vibrant flash of a boy, obsidian hair flowing as he practiced the high level kata, hands gripping his weapon a bit too tightly, jade eyes pooling with a strange, dark determination…

Trying to slide from under the limp weight of this third Padawan, who had collapsed atop his Master after a long, tiring session in the spar arena, his brilliant eyes drooping, his hot breath somehow sweet, even with the sweat still slick on his skin…

And now, a man much older, chestnut hair streaked with gray, Qui-Gon rested.

There were new memories set in the well-loved couch, ingrained in the soft, worn brown material, but he was, truthfully, too weary to think of them.

Anakin Skywalker was bursting with undeniable energy, a bolt of fire blazing across the mind and heart of his Master. 

Such a sudden change it had been, after that time of tranquility, like cool water trickling through his scorched soul from the last betrayal, like the blue beauty of that man-child's eyes…

He shook his head, as if the physical action would clear his mind. A short, soft beep alerted him that the tea was finished brewing. 

He was heading toward the steaming kettle when a more startling buzz, that of his door's keypad, announced the arrival of a guest.

Qui-Gon glanced out the window. Coruscant scantly slept, and when the grand sweep of city finally did, it was gradual. The neon lights and blinking signs faded, but never quite dissipated among the natural darkness. Traffic ebbed, though cloud cars could still be caught zooming through the air, some leaving orange and scarlet ribbons of flame in their wake. 

It was late.

Too late for a visitor, since the Temple had settled collectively to slumber some time before.

Brow crinkled, he hastened gracefully to answer the mechanical call, dressed in tan pajamas akin to his normal daywear. The Master pulled on his robe as he walked and smoothed his somewhat ruffled mane. 

He increased the lighting from dim illumination to a brighter setting.

Then, Qui-Gon opened the door with a flicker of fingers.

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Mace stood in the shadowy corridor, his smooth, hairless head gleaming. His eyes were piercing and focused…with an underlying weariness unusual for the Council Member. His thin lips were pursed. "Qui-Gon." He said simply.

The image of the man, however, paled when the towering Jedi saw the form bundled in his arms.

He frowned. "Mace--what--" He found words had fled his mind . Qui-Gon stared down at the smaller Jedi, wrapped in a cloak, large cowl concealing what the Master knew to be a soft mane of auburn.

Almost in a trance, his hand journeyed slowly toward the young back…

Only to halt when he noticed the slight tremors afflicting him, the listless way he grasped to Mace's tunic. 

Qui-Gon had the sudden urge to circle his peer, to take in his former pupil's face, which had always displayed the emotion beating within. 

But Mace's smooth, dark hand cupped the young Knight's head. "He's asleep." He whispered.

Qui-Gon's eyes were sewn to Obi-Wan. He nodded. "Come in."

****

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Mace stepped into the apartment. Qui-Gon moved briskly ahead, disappearing into his bedroom.

Obi-Wan's weight had decreased rapidly, but the burden was still considerable for the tired man to bare. He lowered him to the overstuffed sofa, the gaunt body boneless.

"Here." Qui-Gon rumbled softly. Very gently, he lifted his former Padawan's head, slipping a pillow beneath.

The movements caused brief alarm to twist Obi-Wan's features. Qui-Gon shushed him while tucking the robe around his chest. Then, still leaning over the sleeping Knight, he ghosted a tender touch along his golden forehead. 

He turned to meet Mace Windu's intense eyes. "Sit. Please." 

Mace complied wordlessly, slumping in an armchair and tipping his head against the cushioned backing. 

Qui-Gon sat on the free space beside Obi-Wan's naked feet. His posture was rigid with concern, the planes of his face a contrast in light and dark. "Mace, what has happened?"

There was a heavy sigh. Strong, slim fingers tented out of habit. "A mission. A relatively high risk mission. The planet, largely unknown, had just been accepted into the Republic and---"

Qui-Gon's brow curled. "But I haven't heard of any recent additions to the Republic. I keep up with such things as well as I can."

Mace shook his head. "This happened…a while ago."

Dread stirred in midnight blue eyes, though he quieted.

"N'h'ago was a questionable entry, due to its unstableness. Two factions war constantly over every issue, no matter its trivial value. Most of these fights escalate to violence. " He swallowed hard. "People were dying, Qui-Gon. Bystanders, innocents mixed up or brainwashed.

"And elections are the worst arena for battle. Obi-Wan was sent to oversee them. After a few days there, he sent some private transmissions expressing his opinion concerning the two candidates. He believed one was deeply corrupt, perhaps even involved in serious criminal activity.

"Somehow, the faction this candidate belonged to was tipped off. Obi-Wan was injured badly by---several blaster bolts to his leg, midsection and chest. " Mace's disgust was obvious; his rich voice fumbled over the words. "They took him to a deserted, closed-in area, while the faction declared their enemies had kidnapped the Jedi."

Qui-Gon's fists clenched tighter as he listened. His breaths seemed razors slicing his throat. 

"Obi-Wan was also their enemy. And they didn't treat him kindly.

"A neutral source alerted the Council of Obi-Wan's disappearance. I was dispatched immediately."

Something crossed Mace's visage, shading his eyes, where there was a hint of moisture. "When I found him, he was pressed into a corner. He was filthy. Grime staining his skin everywhere. His teeth chattered…because they had taken his clothes…and blood covered him.

"I tried to talk to him, to evaluate his condition, but he hardly knew I was there. I took him into my arms and he screamed. He clawed at me, like some wild thing." 

Mace paused as Qui-Gon registered the startling, heart wrenching information. 

The Master glanced at Obi-Wan, who had curled into a taut ball during the talk. His lungs ached sharply for the agony he imagined his dear friend had endured.

"By the time we returned to the transport, he had gone completely meek, lying passively as I cared for his wounds."

Qui-Gon placed his hand lightly on Obi-Wan's ankle. "You didn't take him to the hospital? 

"No." Mace admitted. "There was no way I would put him in that danger. N'h'ago wasn't a safe place for him, or for any Jedi, I'm certain. " He said gravely. "There were countless cuts and bruises…in many places. He would only weep, so soft and miserably, hands tangled in his hair, like he was going to rip it out."

Jinn quelled a wince. 

"When we reached the Temple, he was taken to the Healers. He remained there, in forced sleep, for a week. Then another two after that. 

"He's been so…unlike himself, Qui-Gon. He doesn't speak or eat, his rest is constantly interrupted by what I gather are horrible nightmares. And we have no idea what really occurred during his captivity."

"Why wasn't I told until now?" The question came, stonily.

Mace frowned. "You and Anakin were light years away. Would you have preferred us to wait for your return?"

Qui-Gon sensed the open exhaustion in the Councilman's demeanor. He felt his cheeks warm with a chagrined flush. "I apologize, Mace. It' s just---" He gave up, suddenly tired himself. 

"I know. He's been in Hell, Qui-Gon. And he's not letting anyone in." His gaze journeyed to Obi-Wan, pallor pasty and body overcome with chills. 

Instinctively, Qui-Gon shed his own robe, draping it over him.

Mace nearly grinned. "I knew you would be the one. If anyone can bring him out of this, its you." He looked at the other Jedi, unsettled. "You _are_ agreeable to taking him under your responsibility for a short while?"

Qui-Gon's response was instant, without conscious deliberation. "Of course. As you know, Anakin's engaged in his first solo mission. I don't expect him back for a week, at least."

Mace stood slowly and walked over to him. He squeezed a broad shoulder. "Thank you, Qui-Gon. The entire Order thanks you."

Qui-Gon smiled. "I would do anything for him." He said simply.

After favoring the young Knight with one last, compassionate gaze, he strode to the door. "I know." 

When the apartment's opening was sealed, the past Master and apprentice were left in the silence…and the overwhelming pain that engulfed the humble space.

****

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For a few minutes, he was taken back to his reminiscing, hopelessly transported to the times of his past when this single, (he hated to admit) shabby piece of furniture had been a sort of haven

But not every memory was a gossamer image dusted with sentiment. Qui-Gon was a Jedi, and as such, his life, and the lives of those closest to him, were filled with hardship.

This couch had been a sickbed, molding softly to the forms of each apprentice during illness. He had perched on the plush edge, mopping sweaty brows and moistening cracked, parched lips, while moonlight provided illumination and, it seemed, fuel for raging fevers.

It was a cradle, surrounding and comforting, when sleeping quarters were too far a trek. He had held a Padawan here, cushioning a weary, bruised head with his broad chest. The boy's body had been broken. Truly shattered by the ship crash, and the traumatized bones left the poor youth moaning . Even this pliant surface had been harsh against his form. So Qui-Gon had taken the child into his arms, and they remained in the embrace throughout long, painful nights. He had not been a young man then, but the couch provided support to his aching back, while he offered solace to his abused protégé. 

And now, here they were, once more.

Years had passed, reshaped their existences and deepened any lines in their faces…

But perhaps, in their hearts, nothing had changed at all.

He gazed at Obi-Wan, who retained that childish innocence in the round shape of his countenance and the shining of his eyes, closed behind darkened lids, and managed to smile.

His Obi-Wan was home, even if only for this short time of convalescence. 

And Qui-Gon would ensure that this time would be remembered not for the pain and traces of the horrifying mission, but for the fact they were together again.

His callused fingers found the silk of light-colored hair and combed through the ratted length.

Obi-Wan's breath hitched. Qui-Gon withdrew, cringing as he thought of his foolishness.

Mace had told him of his former Padawan's condition. If he wanted Obi-Wan to recover, he must go slowly.

The Master gathered the smaller Jedi without much effort, carrying him down the hall into the apprentice quarters. 

The room was neat. Anakin always tidied up well before leaving on assignment.

Qui-Gon snorted. _If only he'd display that same order when we're actually HERE. _

He bent to pull the comforter and tightly tucked sheets back. Obi-Wan whimpered hoarsely as he was jostled. Qui-Gon paused to press a calming kiss to his forehead, then settled him under the covers.

Obi-Wan's cheek was turned against the pillow, his hands motionless on his belly.

Qui-Gon was disconcerted by the position. Usually, he would have sprawled on the mattress, limbs stretched, on his stomach. 

He was momentarily tempted to move him to that more natural arrangement, then decided it was best not to alarm him any further.

Leaving the door partially ajar, he padded to his own room.

He sunk down to the bed, and found himself with his spine flat against it, fingers twined, resting on his midsection.

The man chuckled at that and closed his eyes.

But it seemed the night was uneasy, the drapes rustling and creaks absorbing his attention each time he began to doze.

Qui-Gon sighed. Sometimes, it was as though nature manifested his own emotions. 

****

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He woke with a jolt, eyes snapping open so wide the rims ached.

It had not always been his way, to come to such full awareness all at once. Before…Before _it _happened, he had reveled in the soft, dreamy moments between sleep and consciousness, snuggled deep in the warmth of a thick blanket and the insulated feeling that surrounded his mind like a heated balm. Thoughts were lazy and easily drifted away. A sort of contentment fogged his senses-and he was glad for it.

But now, after the horror had scraped those permanent marks on his soul, and his body, Obi-Wan couldn't bring himself to linger in a groggy state.

For so long, he was forced to pay painfully precise attention, to train his vision on any strange movements, to never leave himself vulnerable for attack, even with the shackles digging into the raw flesh of his wrists. 

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No… The word rang sharply in his head, carrying with it the fear and awful dread of those days. He scanned his surroundings, body rigid, save the desperate panting of his chest. 

The darkness overwhelmed the small room. He could faintly make out the contours of objects, but they were bathed in sour, yellow light, and Obi-Wan shuddered, as goose bumps rushed throughout his body.

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No…where am I? He whimpered silently. _No not again this can't be real not again NOT AGAIN_

He shot from the slim bed, but his limps were caught in a tangle of sheets, and he smashed face-first on the carpeted floor.

The Knight attempted to scramble to his feet, until he realized he was too weak. His arms and legs seemed to be filled with lead; his neck felt unable to manage the weight of his head…

Which was strange, because his head was incredibly light…

****

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The muffled thud woke Qui-Gon mere moments before the shrill warning in the Force.

He leapt from his sleepcouch, the blankets falling away from him like a second skin, and he raced the small distance to Obi-Wan's---Anakin's---room.

Obi-Wan was lying in a heap on the ground. His stomach was pressed downward, one foot still holding somehow to the edge of the mattress. Two trembling hands were clutching damp, ginger hair.

"Obi-Wan!" The Master gasped, crouching beside him. 

The younger man only quivered with more intensity. 

Quieting his sometimes startling rumble of a voice, Qui-Gon moved him to his back, gently lowering the other leg from its odd, uncomfortable angle.

Obi-Wan sniffled, breathing in erratic bursts. His face would have been swallowed in the pall of the night, had it not been for the moon's illumination spilling over his distressed features.

"Shh…It's alright." Qui-Gon murmured, smoothing the wilt of auburn hair. He continued the litany as he lifted his former apprentice into his arms, even as he felt the dampness spreading in the miserable Jedi's sleep pants. "I'm here. I'm right here for you." 

Fingers wrapped around his neck, not quite as a child's would, but startlingly close.

Qui-Gon ran his hands down Obi-Wan's stiff spine. "You're safe…It's alright…"

Obi-Wan collected enough strength to shake his head. "No…" He moaned, in a rasping tone that didn't remotely resemble the lilt of his usually cultured voice.

"Yes." Standing, Jinn increased the room's lighting.

Obi-Wan blinked furiously and buried his face in a large shoulder.

"Look, Obi-Wan." He urged without pressure. "Obi-Wan, you're home. See?"

More moisture seeped from the Knight, streaming from eyes clenched tightly shut. "No."

Qui-Gon had to swallow a lump rising in his throat. _What has been done to you? _"Yes." He waited a moment longer, but the head never lifted. He sighed. "Okay. It's okay. Everything's alright, Obi-Wan. We'll just get you cleaned up."

As they journeyed to the lavatory, Qui-Gon noticed his friend was cold, his skin clammy to the touch. He shook his head. _My Obi-Wan…I will help you._

****

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The fresher was alight with dim, warm amber that echoed the knowledge of the late hour. Qui-Gon was thankful for the mild illumination, as he was aware of the sensitivity Obi-Wan had adopted toward brightness. 

He grabbed a terrycloth towel and small washcloth from the slender linen closet, then shifted the weight in his arms to lean toward the tub.

Qui-Gon was never particularly fond of baths, nor was Anakin, so the white basin had gone largely unused for the past decade. It was of great size, to accommodate his considerable frame, with a surrounding border and support bar. A decorative vase of flowers sat in the corner.

He could see the thin coat of dust concealing the true vibrancy of the yellow and white lilies.

Obi-Wan would have never allowed such slack, though he wouldn't have approached his Master about the growing grime or disarray. He would have quietly dusted, scrubbed and cleaned until the room was pristine. His own quarters were unfailingly spruce, a quality Qui-Gon had linked to the boy's need to please his indifferent mentor.

Long after the ice barricades between them melted, by the sheer warmth and love of the Padawan's heart, Obi-Wan was still compelled to straighten what was a tad crooked, wipe at fallen droplets before they could stain. It didn't make Qui-Gon smile, for it was a habit borne of loneliness and desperation. But he did acknowledge the deep affection Obi-Wan must have felt from the early stages of his apprenticeship.

The grubby man curled in his embrace, wearing nothing but a sweaty hospital gown was a pale version of who would have flushed if his new Master had glimpsed him in less-than-perfect form. That aspect of Obi-Wan's fears had ebbed since their friendship strengthened. But still…

This was not his Obi-Wan.

As if to argue the revelation, the Knight began to stir, bruised lips parting. "Mmmph…"

It was a distressed sound, and Qui-Gon was pulled from his musings. He switched on the water.

The clear stream shot out. The sudden noise further disturbed Obi-Wan. He clutched at his former teacher's long neck with his eyes closed.

Qui-Gon dipped the washcloth in the rising water, then smoothed it through the riotous spikes.

Heated moisture ran down Obi-Wan's head, tracing the outline of his head down to his neck. He sighed. "…want…"

"I know." Qui-Gon said. The simple words were soft and swelled with care. He shut off the steel faucet. The steam drifted up, disappearing only to reemerge as sweat beading on their faces.

The older man carefully slid off the thin sleepclothes and draped the towel around shoulders that seemed to cower. 

He drenched the rag again, squeezed a dollop of pearlescent soap in the center, then worked it to a lather on Obi-Wan's battered chest. 

Obi-Wan settled his head in the hollow of Qui-Gon's throat.

While he bathed the Jedi, Qui-Gon felt tears drip down his skin, and fought the sorrow building in his own. He cleansed the tortured flesh gently, wide, callused hands tender.

Obi-Wan cried out in a weak tremor of a voice when that touch grazed over sensitive wounds. Qui-Gon brought the cloth to a pallid cheek, massaging until the tiny sobs silenced. Red-threaded eyes blinked very slowly; the Master could tell they were barely able to focus. 

"…h-hurts…" The black core appeared to have expanded in frightening dilation. Pain bled from the slim circle of cerulean. 

"Release it to the Force." He urged, patting Obi-Wan's bare arm.

"..hmph…no…I…I can'ttt…" 

Qui-Gon hugged him close, sending tendrils of healing energy through the uniting entity. Agony and smeared images, blurred recollections, spilled from the damaged mind. He could hear grating screams, feel errant blows rain down on his body while he was immersed in thick black…

He lowered his forehead to the dripping hair. "You can, my Obi-Wan." Trembling lips met the ginger strands. "I believe you can do anything."

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To be continued at this site…_if_ I actually get some replies!!! J LuvEwan


	2. Chapter Two

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Wow! Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who replied! What an amazing response! J I'm inspired to write faster when given an incentive like that, so… ;) 

FYI, this story is completely, utterly NON-SLASH. I mean to describe a paternal relationship here, and nothing but that. 

And, as aforementioned, this is an AU, in which Qui-Gon survived Naboo and went on to train Anakin himself.

Again, thank you all, from the bottom of my heart. Each review is dear to me. 

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The bedroom was shadowy when Qui-Gon carried a dry, shivering Obi-Wan into its depths. 

Even without light, the space held an unmistakable warmth and familiarity. The Master's scent of spice ran richly through the air, recalling with a single inhale a thousand yesterdays when this room was the setting for a quiet talk, silent meditation or uproarious battle, the apprentice brandishing a pillow and wearing a wide, roguish grin.

Qui-Gon glanced down at Obi-Wan's split lips, their natural pink color now a splotchy blue and purple. It looked like it would pain him just to spread them in a tiny smile. 

His hair was darkened to dim brown from the pours of healing water. It had been slicked back, but a few rebellious strands fell to dangle in front of his shut eyes, where granite-hued crescents betrayed his long, bitter exhaustion. A thin layer of stubble had grown to cover his jaw line and the bottom of his cheeks. 

Qui-Gon placed two fingers against the fair whiskers. He had expected them to be coarse, but they were like short threads of silk to his senses. 

Obi-Wan stirred then, grabbing weakly at his wrist, the fuzzy towel slipping from his arm. 

His mentor was quick to tuck it back in place before lowering him to the bed and resting his head on the feathery cushion of a pillow. 

Qui-Gon found a smaller tunic he had worn as a young Knight, when his body had not yet reached its full musculature. He returned to Obi-Wan's side and wrapped an arm around the bare back while he dressed him.

The garment still billowed in the sleeves and waist, the neckline dipping to reveal a small dusting of curled chest hair, and fell above his too-prominent knees.

It had always been amusing to see his slighter friend swimming in his large clothing, but at this moment, the body appeared more emaciated then compact. Qui-Gon pulled down the blankets and laid the cool form where his brief stay had already left a faint impression.

The moon's radiance caressed Obi-Wan's face as Qui-Gon caressed the lax features, fine eyelashes lit and silhouette soft.

"Sleep well." He said, smiling sadly.

Dusky lids quaked slightly, but nothing beyond that, so the Master withdrew and started toward the opened door.

"N-No…" The husky word halted him.

The light from the main room bled into the adjoining quarters, and Qui-Gon was bathed in a strange shadow, looking back at the other.

Obi-Wan struggled to lift his head. "D-Don't…leave…me…" Panic sparkled moistly in his eyes. "Please."

He acquiesced to the pitiful plea, coming to sit before him and drawing him into his arms. "I won't leave you." He swore, voice rough with unshed tears. "I'll never leave you."

****

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Qui-Gon lay beside Obi-Wan, watching his chest rise and fall in rhythm with uneven breaths. A few wet hairs were dashed across his eyes and the Master reached out to stroke them back. 

Obi-Wan whimpered, a crease forming between his brows and a frown twisting his mouth. 

Qui-Gon rested his hand on a smooth temple. "It's alright." He whispered. His fingers ran through the clean, soft mane. 

Obi-Wan leaned his head into the roughened palm, the worn skin gentle and familiar. 

A smile lightened Qui-Gon's concerned face. He allowed his eyes to close, hand loosely on his old apprentice's forearm.

****

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"N-No…I…no…_please_…" 

The quiet, broken voice woke Qui-Gon at once from his shallow sleep. He turned over and shook Obi-Wan's frail form. "Obi-Wan."

"I…c-can't…don' t make me…nooo…" Tears streamed to cool his cheeks.

Qui-Gon shook his head. Who was this lost and frightened child begging to ghosts? "Obi-Wan, wake up!" He called, more insistently.

A scream ripped from the unconscious Knight, a terrified wail that reverberated off the walls and sent shivers down Qui-Gon's body.

"Obi-Wan!" He grabbed limp arms and brought him upright. 

Obi-Wan's head fell forward. Qui-Gon gently braced it with his hands. "It's over. It's all over, Obi. You were dreaming. They can't hurt you anymore…"

Obi-Wan blinked rapidly, his head raising from the careful hold. The tears left his eyes glimmering and fever bright. He stared at Qui-Gon as if he were only just recognizing his worried caretaker. "M-M-M…"

He couldn't force the name out, his split, swelled lips trembled so badly. 

Qui-Gon grinned through the relieved moisture rolling to soak his beard. "Yes, Obi-Wan. I'm here." He pulled the half-naked body against him, rubbing the sore back , the tunic creating mild friction against flesh. 

Obi-Wan huddled in the supporting hug, still shivering.

Qui-Gon brought the blankets around them both, dropping gradually to the pillows and positioning Obi-Wan against his chest.

"Stay…with…m-me?" He asked, in a voice that wobbled and could barely be heard above his tearful panting.

Qui-Gon brushed a kiss across his shining forehead. "For as long as you need."

Obi-Wan looked up at him from below heavy eyelids. He struggled to smile, then fell quickly away to sleep.

****

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He broke from his dreams when he felt heat on his aching neck. 

Qui-Gon blinked, the minor pain also becoming known in his joints, and he cursed his age. The sunlight streamed through the closed curtains, a dark orange unmistakably of dusk. He frowned and tried to turn on his stomach.

But the warm weight on his chest and belly anchored him in that position.

The Master released a groggy huff, his fingers tangling idly in auburn locks. Obi-Wan continued in his deep slumber. A thin line of drool snaked from the corner of his mouth and Qui-Gon gently wiped it away, touch moving up his cheek.

Obi-Wan sniffed. His heartbeat pulsed against the other man's midsection.

"Ow." Qui-Gon hissed, his spine stiff from hours of being a makeshift cushion.

Obi-Wan's stomach rumbled and he frowned , glancing at the kitchen in the distance.

He remembered Mace describing his dead appetite; Qui-Gon didn't want to predict how long it had been since the Knight had a decent, full meal. The thinness of the resting form added to his discomfort, bones jutted too sharply, Qui-Gon could almost feel the hard rows of ribs through the sleep tunic. 

"Obi-Wan." He murmured close to his ear. "Wake up, little one…" A rueful smile sprung from that old endearment, perhaps a bit bittersweet as he gazed down at Obi-Wan, at the subtle indications of his maturity. 

Obi-Wan was still oblivious to everything, face tranquil and body slack, a bare leg strewn across Qui-Gon's. 

Qui-Gon was contented to see him reverted back to his more natural sleeping habits, instead of that rigid, pained way he had earlier displayed. He held him tighter, and drifted off, despite the waves of hunger strong in their stomachs, and the scream of underused, cramped muscle in the Master. 

Outside, Coruscant too seemed swayed by weariness; the bustling cityscape dimmed, and ushered in another star-scattered night.

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Qui-Gon emerged from the oblivion of repose with a heavy feeling seeped into his bones. It was the feeling of resting too long. The long column of his neck was tense and he moaned, wanting to lift it from the unpleasant solidity of the pillows. He hesitated only because he knew Obi-Wan needed his steady, gentle support, and because he had promised to give it.

The shaggy head slipped from his chest and Qui-Gon opened his bleary eyes. 

Obi-Wan stared up at him, the pale blue of his gaze filmed with mist. Early morning light spilled on his visage.

Qui-Gon was finally able to turn on his side. He reached out to cup the curve of his face, that carried the perfume of soap after a day in the warm blankets and arms. "Did you sleep well?" He asked quietly.

Obi-Wan nodded, rubbing at his eyes, stretching his limbs to the limits of his energy. 

"Do you want something to eat?"

The Knight's lips pursed. Qui-Gon could tell from the dread and sickness in his eyes the answer.

He laid his hand on the narrow, empty belly. "Obi-Wan, you need to eat or you'll never be able to heal, to regain your strength."

There wasn't a trace of rebuke or sense of imposing rank; only genuine, paternal concern was behind the words. 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and took a rattling breath. 

"I can prepare you anything you want." 

Obi-Wan just shook his head, wiping at eyes that were filling with tears again. "N-N-No…I c-can't…"

"Oh, my sweet child…" He intoned, taking him easily into an embrace. Obi-Wan laid his cheek on Qui-Gon's shoulder. He was gasping in sudden, sharp bursts.

Qui-Gon cradled his head. "Tell me."

---

Obi-Wan swallowed. "Th-They would give m-me food. I would have to eat it or I w-w-would starve." He inhaled. "It w-was tainted and it w-would m-m-make me sick." He began to quiver, he grasped onto Qui-Gon.

"It tasted…b-bad, but I had t-t-to."

Qui-Gon kissed the space between his brows. "I know. I understand."

"B-But after aw-w-while, I couldn't anymore. I c-couldn't." He gulped. "And it was b-better. It's better n-n-not to."

"No, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon disagreed, running his hand down his back. "You did what you had to then. Your food was poisoned--" The smaller figure shook. "But you can't deny yourself sustenance now."

Obi-Wan attempted to pull back, panicked. "No…"

Qui-Gon stilled him. "Yes. Yes, Obi-Wan. I'm here to take care of you, to help you recover from this. This isn't healthy."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and leaned against him, as if exhausted by the meager argument. 

Qui-Gon realized that the tremors afflicting Obi-Wan's body were a result of countless malnourished days. He stood and lifted him wordlessly into his arms, traveling to the living room. _This can't go on._

The hulking man settled Obi-Wan on the sofa, tucking a throw around him.

"I'm going to be right here." He pointed to the kitchen area, then cleaned a pool of tears from around cerulean eyes. "Rest."

The haunted look had returned to Obi-Wan. He nodded sullenly.

Qui-Gon moved to the kitchen, regretful to leave him, but determined to save him. 

---

The bowl was steaming as the somber Master reentered with a serving tray. It was balancing a scanty collection of food: thin soup, a crumbly biscuit and juice comprised of some concoction of fruit concentrate and (mostly) sugar. 

Obi-Wan eyed the meal as though it were a treacherous enemy, forehead pressed against his arms, knees folded to his chest. 

Qui-Gon sat beside him and slid the tray onto the worn, faded ottoman. Obi-Wan's focus followed it from beneath limp strands of auburn. His hands clenched and unclenched in frightened anticipation. But his stomach proved a traitor; his middle gurgled as the aromas wafted around him, hot and fresh and able to fill the aching emptiness so painful inside his body. 

He licked at dry, quivering lips, then raised his eyes to Qui-Gon. Slowly, Obi-Wan shook his head.

A battle-hardened hand was suddenly velvet against the side of his face, as the Master soothed him silently, reaching for the glass as he did so.

Obi-Wan shuddered and curled into himself tighter. 

Qui-Gon blew out a breath. "Drink some, Obi-Wan." He touched a strained shoulder. "Please."

The young man whimpered something unintelligibly and buried his hands in his wide, cream sleeves. 

The lines of the cowering figure were severe, agonizing. Qui-Gon's fingers were wispy along the center curve of the Knight's back, a calm ministration that almost eased the stressed form, if not for the presence of the bright cerise beverage.

"It's only juice." When there was no response, he put the glass to his own mouth and took a sip. A line of red gleamed around his lips, a sight that would have left Obi-Wan laughing in his light, rich way…but not at this mournful and shadowed moment. "I've drank it. Now can you?"

Obi-Wan's protest was muffled and meager behind his compressed lips. His fingers extended shakily.

Qui-Gon wrapped them around the slim tumbler and pushed them gently toward Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan stared at it like it was a vial of thick poison rather than fruit juice. His belly churned.

Qui-Gon's voice rose in the bleak stand-off. "Obi-Wan, its fine."

He clamped his eyes shut.

"Don't you trust me? Would I lie to you?"

The question was so softly and vulnerably delivered that he looked up, gaze still hooded, into shining eyes painted in the palate of midnight. The answer was simple. Instinctive. "No." He rasped.

Qui-Gon smiled, feeling more like a relieved father than former teacher as he watched the juice slide to meet Obi-Wan's mouth. 

The swallows were fast and bitter, chased by a twisting grimace. Obi-Wan shoved the half-empty glass at Qui-Gon while he wiped at his stained face. A few gagging coughs wracked his shocked system, but he quickly overcame them, comforted by the cool sensation running through him. 

Qui-Gon stroked his hair back. "Good. I'm proud of you, little one." He leaned forward to stir the soup when a clammy hand took his upper arm in a death grip.

Obi-Wan's face was pale, frenzied. His eyes were watery azure. "No…more." He begged. "No more."

Qui-Gon brushed the pads of his fingers across a wet cheek. "I want you to stay here. With me." His hand fell away. "But you _need_ to recover. To replenish your body. And if that means I have to give you over to the healers, then I will."

It wasn't a threat, yet it left scared tears and shivers. His stomach was screaming at the damned temptation. Bu then he remembered the bony, clawed fingers, shoving the putrid food in his unwilling mouth…swallowing against all instinct…giving in…

Obi-Wan shook his head helplessly.

Qui-Gon collected a small spoonful, undeterred by the pitiful and heartbreaking display. "You must learn that nourishment is not wrong. It will stop your limbs from trembling and ease the aches in your head." 

The utensil was level to the dimpled chin. Obi-Wan let the wise words echo in his mind, let them become the mantra to absorb his attention as he sipped the vegetable broth. 

"That's it…"

__

….long, sharp nails scraping his skin as the rotten morsels were stuffed in…

"Another bite…"

…_another agony when the stale and acrid taste reached his senses…_

"Good, Obi-Wan…"

…_bad, terrible…_

"Can you feel your body strengthen?…"

__

…and the thickness lodges in his throat…

"Just a little more…"

__

…and more and more and more…

"Now some biscuit…"

__

…the sour pain is too much…

And the old torture was fresh in his mouth. Obi-Wan pushed Qui-Gon away with every last remnant of his energy. The just-consumed food mixed in his belly like cramping heat, a heat that rose in his esophagus as dense liquid.

"Oh…" He moaned.

Qui-Gon took him into the cradle of his arms. "Fight it, my child." He spurred. "Those…that hurt you are gone. I'm here." He rubbed Obi-Wan's back. "_I'm here._"

"Mmmmph…" His fingers grasped at tunic.

"Close your eyes."

Obi-Wan obeyed, wearily, while the nausea spiked. 

Qui-Gon sensed his movements. "Keep your eyes closed and think of Thralaga-Hai. Think of the lush, green tropics and the beach, with the strange white sand you buried your toes in. Remember that, and forget everything else."

__

…watching the waves crash in a melding of emerald and deep blue and glinting silver…

His insides were a tight coil…

__

…holding the tiny shell, seeing it catch and reflect a thousand colors, metallic hues…

That gradually eased…

__

…sprawling on the soft bed of sand…

Until he was passed the sickness…

__

…with the sun glowing on his skin and his Master somewhere nearby…

And fell into a dreamless sleep.

---


	3. Chapter Three

---

Qui-Gon dipped his head back to rest against the sofa, eyes trailing across the smooth stretch of ceiling, half-lidded.

They drifted languorously to the soup, cooled and clinging to the side of the dish, beside the crumbled remnants of biscuit and shallow ring of juice.

During Obi-Wan's apprenticeship, food was gulped down eagerly, whether the boy was hungry or simply drawn by the tantalizing scents. That insatiable appetite dwindled as the youth matured. More often his plate was pushed away with bits remaining in a scatter. His attention was occupied elsewhere, aware that eating was nothing more than an essential fueling process for his body.

Tonight, Qui-Gon held to the hope that knowledge was returning to Obi-Wan, and the rail-thin form would regain its pleasant fullness.

The Master's hand moved down a slender, covered arm. His cheek brushed against Obi-Wan's hair. "So strong." He murmured, voice lowered and almost reverent. "You are Jedi. Above everyone else."

A broken sigh answered him.

The sadness and rage had soaked so deep into his soul, he had become numb to its power. He was always conscious of it, when he caught a wince from a bruise mistakenly touched, or a shudder belatedly quelled.

The ghosts of the grim, torturous time in captivity had crept into Obi-Wan's eyes. The set so often breathtakingly cerulean had faded to gray, lusterless as clouds swelled with rain.

The wash of tears relieved nothing….Seemed to fortify the wicked wraiths grasping to his friend.

He brought Obi-Wan closer into the circle of his arms. 

And tried to block himself off from the agony.

Because if he allowed himself to truly feel it…it could very well destroy him.

---

__

"Where're your magic powers now, Jedi?" A sneering voice rasped, noxious hot breath swarming in his face. 

The skeletal alien sniggered at his prisoner's weak struggle to gather a breath. "All that mystical clap trap is nothing but rat crap now, isn't it?"

The chained figure opened his burning eyes, and rivers of freed tears coursed down his cheeks, catching lacerations, the salty moisture stinging. Hateful words spun in his mind, but his bruised lips were beyond the effort. 

A jaundiced, toothy smile split his captor's mouth. "What? No more nasty yelling?" He tilted the dimpled chin sharply, eliciting a feeble hiss from the Knight. "Well, maybe we can make you scream…"

Then, after the grinding buzzing began, the pain erupted.

At first it was unbearable, all-encompassing, wracking his entire body.

His thoughts smeared together, and memories of who he was and why he was trapped in this hell were lost in the bitter maelstrom. 

He could only pray, on some savage, bare level, that the agony would force him into unconsciousness.

It was a long, long time before it did…

"Ohhhh.." A quiet, miserable moan fell from Obi-Wan's lips. 

Qui-Gon smoothed a wisp of ginger off his forehead. His touch was laced with gentle waves of the Force. "Shh…It's over. It's over."

Obi-Wan twisted in his arms, head thrown back so that his distressed cries were heard clear. Dark streaks of violet gleamed wetly beneath his eyes. "Hmmmph….No…."

Qui-Gon sent a hasty, worried probe through their partially reawakened bond. 

Obi-Wan sat up with a ragged and quick gasp. A hand rubbed light circles against his slumped back, and he fell, exhausted, against the support of the Master's chest. 

"It's okay." Qui-Gon assured again. He streamed relaxing suggestions along the panting man's mind. "It's over."

Obi-Wan tried to lift his head. "N-No. It c-c-can't be over."

The Jedi frowned, steadying him. "Why, Obi-Wan? The creatures that hurt you will never have the chance again." He framed the perspiring face with his massive hands. Cerulean and jade eyes gleamed sickly in the muted light. Qui-Gon watched them struggle to focus amid the torrent of pain. "So why can't you accept that it's over?"

Obi-Wan stared at him, lips quivering wildly, fear wide and bare in his eyes. "B-Because I can still _feel_ it!" He shouted with frail anger. "When I sleep, I feel their claws a-all over, scraping my skin and y-y-yanking my hair."

Tears poured freely--from both men. Qui-Gon didn't move to wipe them. His focus remained unwavering on the purging Knight.

"I hear th-th-them, even when I'm awake. Whispers in the corner of my mind. T-Telling me I'll pay for interfering." He gulped. "They didn't p-pay, Qui-Gon. They l-l-left me cr-razy and half-dead…" Quaking, Obi-Wan crossed his arms and began to rock. "H-Hungry. My mouth was c-coated with the poisoned filth," He sputtered on the last word, "Even n-n-now, sitting heeere, I taste it." His teeth clamped down over his bottom lip.

"I taste it." He repeated in a severe whisper.

Qui-Gon carefully spread his arm across Obi-Wan's shoulders, stroking the short, ginger tail that brushed against his neck. "You're reliving it, Obi-Wan. It's been weeks. You've been well taken care of since then. Your system was checked and flushed of any toxins." He swept back a fallen wave of hair from the perspiring forehead. "What you're tasting is the remnants of your fright. Your feelings of helplessness. It hasn't gone away because you're hiding from it."

Obi-Wan pressed his face into the warmth of Qui-Gon's tunic. "_No._"

Qui-Gon, very gently, pulled him back, holding him by the arms. "You needn't be embarrassed by that, Obi-Wan. You survived a terrible, terrible ordeal." He smiled. "But you were never crazy, my Padawan. You reacted naturally. You were in shock.

"And you still are."

The young Jedi looked at him, understanding slowly registering in his tear-stained, pinched face. 

Obi-Wan nodded.

Qui-Gon inhaled with an assuring smile, though still completely aware of the grim depths of the intervention. "Mace was worried for you. You spent weeks in the hospital ward, but all that improved was your body. The most precious part of you," He kissed the auburn crown of his head, "That most damaged by this, was as raw and unhealed as the day you were rescued."

Obi-Wan squeezed his hand with ever fiber of strength he possessed. "The moment I was brought here, w-when I came home--" He hesitated, "I was afraid. That you would see how pathetic I h-had allowed myself to become. How breakable." His voice was low. "But at the s-same time, I just wanted to be where everything made sense."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "_Nothing_ about your condition is pathetic _or_ weak. I would never be so blind and moronic to think so."

A blush colored the pallid Knight. "I-I didn't mean…"

Qui-Gon touched his mouth. "I know what you meant. It' s the way you are, Obi-Wan. The way I shaped you under my tutelage." He shushed further objections with a quick wave of his hand. "But you _can't_ be perfect. This horrendous thing that was done to you--you can't walk away without scars or a time of recovery. "

Obi-Wan sniffed. "I want to forget."

"But you can't." The Master said. "As much as I would like to take these memories from you, I can't either. You must address them in order to move past them."

Obi-Wan's fingers curled around the billowing sleeves of his sleep tunic. "I c-c-can't." He grimaced, the sour, festering flavor viscous in his mouth. "I d-don't want to rem-m-member."

He blinked, tears collecting on his lashes. _Gods I don't sound like myself…What's happened to me?_

Qui-Gon patted his knee, cautious of the fading bruise there. "That's normal, Obi-Wan. Of course you don't want to remember. But these memories will feel different now." His finger ran along Obi-Wan's cheek. "Because they can't hurt you anymore."

Blue eyes striped with glinting moonlight narrowed. "Not if you don't let them."

Obi-Wan watched the familiar, deep color for a moment, breaths slowed. "You'll…help me?"

Qui-Gon finally dried the moisture from the smooth, golden skin. "You know I will."

---

The day following the tearful breakdown was nearly silent, with the weakened Knight sleeping most of the morning wrapped in a handmade quilt, in the center of his Master's bed, eyes pulsing as he dreamed. 

Qui-Gon used the free time to straighten what had been left unattended. Dirty dishes discarded in the sink, clothes thrown on the floor, and other messes disregarded in favor of caring for Obi-Wan's needs. 

He was depositing dirtied tunics in the laundry bin when the communicator rang out in short, shrill beeps. He jogged to answer it, glancing in the slumbering man's direction worriedly as he passed by. 

He palmed the flashing button. "Hello?"

"Master?" Anakin's deep voice replied.

Qui-Gon smiled. "Padawan. How's your mission?"

"It's great!" He enthused, then quickly sobered. "I mean, it's a lot of work, but I'm handling it. The King said he's never worked with someone so talented in negotiation and persuasion."

Qui-Gon's grin broadened. "That's wonderful, Anakin. I'm glad to hear that you've apparently improved in mediation areas of your training."

"Yeah." The word glimmered with self-pride. "There shouldn't be that much left to do here. It's working out fine."

"It's fantastic that things are going so smoothly."

Anakin laughed lightly. "I would've been kinda bored, but the King's given me…I guess you wouldn't call it an expense account."

Qui-Gon quirked his bearded lip. "You mean accommodations?" 

"Uh…yeah. I think. I've gone to some really good restaurants and things like that."

"Oh." The Master tapped his foot, finger pressing to his chin. "You've only accepted what's necessary, right?"

There was a pregnant pause. "Of course…Oh, I better go. I just wanted to catch up…"

"Well, when do you think you'll be back?" 

"…What?"

Qui-Gon swallowed his slight frustration. "When will you be back?" He asked again, a bit louder.

"I'm not sure. A few more days at the most…." Rustling was audible in the background.

"Contact me before you depart, Padawan."

"..I will, Master. Bye."

The other end went dead before he could speak a hasty farewell. Qui-Gon stood with his hands on his hips, staring unseeing into the adjoining room, the brisk conversation replaying in his mind. _A few days._

---


	4. Chapter Four

---

Shadows stretched in soft criss-cross on the carpeted floor. Drapes flowed in slow rhythm with the breeze.

Qui-Gon's hand lay on the doorframe. These had been his personal quarters since the day he accepted his first Padawan, a hopeful flutter in his heart and meager knapsack swung over his shoulder. The space had never been empty, containing a large desk, antiquated chair of rare wood, purchased on a whim in a crowded little shop on the lower levels, and a tall bureau. 

In the beginning, it was just a room, as any other he had occupied in his years, pleasant but barely memorable.

It was not until his apprentices swept through, chasing an escaped ball or swiping an extra pillow, earning a half-amused, half-upset expression from the Master, that it became his home.

He smirked, shaking his head, remembering the suspicious air that hovered around Obi-Wan a certain day when the boy was seventeen. _Qui-Gon noticed almost at once the shields thrown up around the apprentice's thoughts, the way he avoided looking his mentor in the eye._

Qui-Gon was planning on approaching Obi-Wan about it, when he passed by his desk.

The top was stacked with mission reports, recorded notes and dusty holos. But above all the clutter, sat a single piece of creamy white paper.

Arching his brow, he picked up the curious item.

Drawn with crisp precision, a Jedi Master was standing beside a rolling, dark ocean, his long hair whipping behind him. Fine lines formed his leonine features, the familiar, broken nose, the trim beard. The picture was shaded with smoky gray, creating stunning dimension and startling, sharp emotion.

He covered his mouth, unable to take his eyes from the beautifully crafted work. At the bottom corner, scrawled in barely legible script, was Obi-Wan's signature, along with a short message:

I love you, My Master.

Tears blurred his vision. Qui-Gon rushed to his Padawan's bedroom, clutching the sketch, a look of wonderment on his face.

Obi-Wan was pouring over an installment of some serial he loosely followed when he felt strong, warm arms envelop him from behind, pinning him to a broad chest.

"Thank you, my Padawan." A voice rumbled in his ear, husky with joy.

Obi-Wan craned his neck, and only smiled. 

Qui-Gon glanced fondly at the now-framed gift, hanging over the door, then returned his eyes to Obi-Wan.

Bands of dark streaked over the young Knight's silhouette. His fingers were curled around the thick pillow, a line of moisture streaming from his slack mouth.

The Master padded to the massive bed, sitting with a creak.

Obi-Wan sighed dreamily in response, nestling further into the patterned quilt. 

A smile curved Qui-Gon's lips. He fingered the oft-used indigo coverlet, studying the geometric design that, when you peered closely, was actually an arrangement of vibrant, golden blooms surrounded by swirling jade vines.

It was Tahl's favorite, woven by her smooth, delicate hands when she was still a senior Padawan. After her sight was stolen, she tucked the folded quilt into Qui-Gon's drawer, an attached letter explaining that '_I would rather one I love enjoy what I can no longer.'_

When she was slain, amid his smothering grief, Qui-Gon searched wildly for it, needing a remnant of her warmth, her scent.

He found it draped across Obi-Wan, tears dried on the shaking boy's face. He couldn't bear to lift it from the suffering child, instead settling beside him, keeping a hand steadfast on his slumbering Padawan throughout the endless, bitter night. And rising before dawn, so it would never be known who had offered the comfort.

"I must've been crazy." Qui-Gon whispered, grazing the base of Obi-Wan's neck with gentle fingers. He stared up at the portrait. "…And cruel."

"N-No." A groggy voice answered.

Calmly, Qui-Gon rubbed his back. "It's alright. You're safe, Obi-Wan."

"Mm…No." Red-stained eyes opened to slits. "You…weren't…ever those things."

His ministrations halted. 

Obi-Wan struggled to sit up, the quilt falling away. "Why'd…you say that?"

Qui-Gon watched the subtle illumination from the window light the weary, sleep-creased face. "I was just..thinking out loud, Obi-Wan. Don't worry about it."

He rubbed his eyes, propped on an elbow. "Why…did you _think_ that?"

"I was recalling old times. Times I was happy, and times I was an old fool." He explained with more than a hint of self-deprecation. "That's all."

"Oh." Obi-Wan cautiously reclined on the pillows again. "But…regardless…you've never been cruel."

His voice was still a trembling rasp, and Qui-Gon carded his fingers through the gleaming auburn hair. "You're a forgiving man, Obi-Wan."

The younger Jedi reached for the quilt. His companion blanketed it over his legs for him. 

"No…You're just too hard on yourself." Obi-Wan argued.

Qui-Gon chuckled. "This isn't supposed to be my healing, you know." He took a mostly limp hand in his. "I was looking at the picture you drew for me, all those years ago."

Obi-Wan feigned a groan. "Ugh. I was…terrible."

"Not in the least." He countered, with warm inclination. "You were, _are,_ an amazing artist. I cherish every piece."

"You're just…sentimental."

"No…It's because you never added the silver in my hair."

Obi-Wan dissolved into gasping laughter, a hand on his chest. "I guess I'm not…cruel…either."

---

Yeah, I know, this one was a shorty. But I thought I'd give you what I have so far, rather than make you wait. ;) Thank you so much for reading…and replying, hopefully. I'll work my best to get the next one up faster, and with a larger length. Thanks again! -LuvEwan


	5. Chapter Five

---

Qui-Gon stirred the soup, the foamy skin that boiled at the top breaking with every swirl of the ladle. 

The rich scent spread finely in the air, carrying into the other rooms of the apartment and-hopefully- whetting Obi-Wan's scarce appetite. 

__

Well, it's certainly getting to mine. The Master mused, taking a small spoonful of the vegetable and Parialli meat mixture. The low-key, but distinct, stew filled his mouth and teased his own neglected taste buds.

There was the minor worry that the food would still be too strong. Obi-Wan had never favored overly spicy or rich, heavy dishes; his recovering body especially wouldn't tolerate anything beyond limited flavor. 

But he also required more nutrients as his system re-energized. Thin soup and bland, crumbly biscuits wouldn't satisfy those mounting demands.

Qui-Gon poured a glass of ice water and grabbed a few strips of baked Gardis potato--Obi-Wan's favorite.

He carried the meal into the room, the space drenched in a glowing mélange of soft twilight colors. Obi-Wan was flipping through a dusty holo album, snugly fit in a nest of pillows and a thick, velvet duvet. 

He chuckled quietly at a photo, then looked up at the entering man, smiling. 

That bright expression faded when his eyes moved from the rugged, bearded face to the loaded tray.

"Maybe I should go back to the healers." He deadpanned, though the lingering fear was definitely real, an outlying tinge in his voice.

Qui-Gon laughed, lowering the tray to the bedside table. "I hope that wasn't an endorsement for what passes as food in that Force-awful place."

Obi-Wan shrugged with a mischievous sigh.

"I would hardly compare this to that…slop." Qui-Gon scoffed.

"Hey," Obi-Wan countered with a jerked brow, "I've eaten more of that 'slop' than I'd care to remember. So watch it."

"That you have." The elder Jedi ruffled his already mussed hair. He handed him the chilly, clear beverage, which was received without objection.

Obi-Wan took a deep drink, swallowing with grateful gulps, ending with a low "Mmm."

Qui-Gon watched him for a moment, then reached for the bowl. "I think you'll like this, Obi-Wan."

The Knight studied it critically. He saw small chunks within the brown brew and swallowed. His stomach twisted in reaction. "I'm glad someone thinks so."

"You can't live on broth forever." Qui-Gon admonished, his tone bordering on a rebuke. 

Obi-Wan caught the change in attitude. A flush blossomed on his cheeks. "I'm sorry if I'm being difficult."

Qui-Gon dipped the spoon into the broth. He gazed at the weary face and smiled. "You're not. And I hope you know I'm only pushing this on you because I care."

The ginger-haired man's tendency to readily accept any guilt, if he was deserving of it or otherwise, took over. _Force. He shouldn't need to explain himself to me. _Clenching his eyes shut and galvanizing his protesting belly, Obi-Wan pulled the spoon from the wide, callused hand and took a steaming mouthful.

His newly ingrained instincts told him to reject the food, whispered that it was tainted. Memories of curling in on himself, sweat beading on his forehead and pain erupting throughout his body surfaced. Obi-Wan took a wobbly breath. _I can do this. I'm past all that. I can do this…_

Qui-Gon squeezed his shoulder, but said nothing. The struggle in the young man was palpable. 

__

I can do this. Obi-Wan repeated to himself. The weakly seasoned warmth slid down his throat, and he pawed blindly for Qui-Gon's hand as the full taste became known to him. 

/_I'm here for you./ _The Master sent mentally, in a whisper.

It was a simple message, but it rang with the truth that had always been the base of their friendship. 

Obi-Wan didn't need to know any more than that. Weaving their fingers together, eyes open and brimming with a tearful trust, he took another bite.

---

Qui-Gon ran his fingers through strands of cinnamon hair, letting them drift to the pillow, shining like silk threads against bleached linen.

Midnight spilled from a window, the gentle effulgence sinking into his soul so that, as he studied his slumbering friend, every shadowed emotion was exposed within him.

Concern. Lasting traces of fear.

And the largest, brightest, most unforgiving beams fell to that hungry demon pacing at his heart's core.

Hatred.

Bitter, acrid, _blazing_ enmity. Sizzling in the corners of his mind

He had pushed the feelings there, concealing them in distant, murky catacombs.

It was a Master's ritual, of sorts. Unspoken, even unthinkable, but rampant just the same. 

A Jedi was trained from a tender age to endure tragedy, to collect all the natural human reaction and release it to the Force. To let it absorb darker passions and cleanse the aura of contamination. 

But some evils couldn't be erased from memory, some anguish became more than a faint stain on the soul.

Qui-Gon sighed, digging his chin in the heel of a hand--a hand that trembled helplessly, as though overcome with palsy.

"I can't understand." He whispered. He touched Obi-Wan's face, not allowing himself to flinch away from the ghosts of bruises, a great love welling, moist and shimmering, in his eyes. "How could anyone see you, see the goodness and innocence and _light…_and do anything but strive to protect you? Love you?"

The still countenance didn't offer a response to his pained desperation, couldn't sate the cold maw widening within him. So it grew while the luminescence of stars beyond the window dwindled to a dim, grayish haze. 

He had lived the vigil before, spent countless nights in a state of steady sleeplessness, watching, guarding, _holding_ Obi-Wan when ailments, injury, or something more sinister loomed.

Qui-Gon had encountered the blackest evils that dwelled in the Universe.

He had seen, so many, many times, the effect such greed and malevolence, such sheer cruelty had on Obi-Wan's gentle spirit. The wounds that marked his body. The memories and gritty images embedded beneath shallow layers of skin, seeping further in the youth's own realms than blood or bone. 

Qui-Gon watched the dismal shifting in the sky, Obi-Wan's hand limp and cool in his. Slivers of yellow moon slashed across the Master's forehead and grizzled cheek, pooling into the creases, lines drawn by years of this selfsame torment. 

He wondered how often the horrors Obi-Wan witnessed fell from his soul without changing that which they had touched, what tortures he was able to withstand while shielded strongly enough to walk away unscathed. 

Perhaps some could pull it off. Some could watch lives and worlds crumble with both eyes open, clear and indifferently tolerant. 

But Obi-Wan couldn't, for all his wondrous gifts, perform those miracles. Each tear snaking down a child's face became a razor to his tender heart. Every injustice left another weight for him to carry. 

"Your very being weeps for the suffering of others, my Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon murmured. He trailed a finger along the crease between the parted lips and whiskered chin. "For so long, I've been made to stand by while you mourn strangers, comfort victims, and seal your own pain from everyone. 

"Including me." He added softly. 

A lump formed in his throat, and Qui-Gon swallowed. "I waited for the time to come when you couldn't handle it alone. I thought that--maybe--the, uh, circumstances of your Knighting would be the ignition. But you kept that separate from me. I should've known you would.

"But then the moment came for you, didn't it, my Padawan? When all the hurt and agony just…snapped something inside you.

"And I wasn't there." His voice had become doleful, hollow. "When you were at your very worst, and needed me the most…I was oblivious, so far from you. And…" Another choking boulder lodged in his esophagus. He clenched a droop of cold, worn blanket in his hand. "You faced the onslaught, locked in loneliness. 

"Isn't that the way you spend your life? Waiting for someone to stand beside you. Waiting…only to walk these roads in isolation. While I---While I---" He tore his watery eyes from the piercingly innocent, beautiful face, phantoms of a precious childhood filling the home. His periphery was wrapped in ribbons of luminous, carefree smiles and spurts of youthful energy, the boy sprinting, _gliding_ ahead in a grassy, dew-kissed field, turning to call out to his lagging Master, feet hopping in a playful dance and buoyed with grace, the sun creating a glowing halo at the top of his ginger head. Harmonious notes of laughter sweet in the air. 

The inborn trust always present in sea-washed eyes, surviving shredded hopes and those moments when his Master turned an uncertain, doubting, suspicious gaze toward him, searching fervently for a waver in dedication that could never be found in one of steadfast purity.

And then there was the love. Even as he grew, exhibiting normal teenage behaviors and his own mild forms of rebellion, Obi-Wan never denied his adoration, wouldn't bury his affection beneath adolescent pride. 

Tears. Shy, unbidden trickles or miserable rivers flooding his golden cheeks. Qui-Gon remembered each glimmering droplet.

Now, as he galvanized his quivering heart and looked back to the resting form, he knew that, before this atrocity, Obi-Wan had never cried for himself. The tears had always been reserved for exterior reaction. 

Qui-Gon leaned forward, laying his forehead very lightly upon Obi-Wan's, beads of warm moisture dripping from his lashes. "Waiting for someone who would cry for you--as you cried for everyone else." He finished huskily, his hand stroking the curve of the face. 

Obi-Wan moved his head minutely, the sheets making a quiet rustling noise. When one lid rose with sleepy confusion, instead of backing away, Qui-Gon simply stared down into the red-veined eye, permitting the tears to be released in a copious, unashamed flow. 

"Master?" Came the single, soft utterance.

And Qui-Gon smiled at the unique tinges in that pronunciation, how the professional meaning drained away, the word ringing with love beyond the bounds of tutelage, laced with natural respect. In his mind, it became 'father'.

He smoothly took perch on the edge of the bed. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Obi-Wan quirked his lips in a timid sort of smile. "That's okay. I…wasn't getting much peace anyway."

Qui-Gon sat back. _Neither was I. _"We need to talk about this, Obi-Wan."

The Knight braced himself on his elbows, the constant paleness of his skin leaving him with a sickly sheen of sweat covering his body. "I…"

But the weak reply died, shriveling like a bloom that shrinks in fear from the sunlight. 

Qui-Gon clasped his shoulder. "You don't have to worry. I'm here to listen."

"But," Obi-Wan began to protest, his chest aching and tight. Then he saw the dampness of that noble visage--and collapsed into arms waiting to receive him. 

Harsh sobs were torn from Obi-Wan, his legs twisting in the blankets, his heart wrenching in the tenacious pull of memories from his captivity. 

Qui-Gon cradled the head against his broad chest. "Tell me what happened…so you can let it go."

Obi-Wan wanted to disappear into the safety of the embrace, to be able to live without this struggle, without needing to speak a word of that wretched past. Yet, he knew it was a fantasy that withered, as reality and the relentless trudge of time pushed him forward.

__

So I can let go.

He settled into the comfort, tucking in his bare, cold legs and huddling against Qui-Gon's chest. His eyes, unfocused to the present, looked into the darkness. "I was stupid. I walked into a trap--aware of my distrust toward the faction. I--I didn't want to alienate them. I didn't want them to kn-know I was questioning them. I sh-should have approached it better…I…"

Qui-Gon tipped his chin up, so that their eyes met. "Even Jedi cannot predict everything."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Their presence in the Force was elusive. I couldn't--I couldn't detect very much of their intent. It was so foggy and then---" He shuddered. "All I knew was pain. 

"The floor was just stone. Like hard, cracking ice. And I had nothing. No warmth. N-None. Except when I bled."

Qui-Gon fought the urge to shut the mouth, to prevent the horrific recollections from being known to the him. 

"And I couldn't escape, not even in sleep. I can't describe…I knew I was going to die. And it would be slow, and it would be the embodiment of agony, and I would leave my life… knowing I had failed."

__

If ever anyone believed you a failure…what chance of victory do the rest of us have? Qui-Gon rubbed his arm encouragingly.

"I wasn't going to let them take me without giving all I had to fighting them. I spit out the rancid and tainted food, I wouldn't respond to their taunts. I--I thought of the Temple, and sanity, and you.

"But it wasn't lasting. I wasn't able to hold out against what they did. After a time, I just surrendered to the fear. I abandoned Jedi serenity.. I--I--"

Qui-Gon hugged him close. "Go on, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan inhaled, nodded. "I went into myself. And I didn't really exist then. Apart from the pain, I didn't feel. My thoughts were frozen. My only motivation was this…raw, primitive need to survive. So anytime I was touched, I screamed. I fought without knowing my enemy anymore. 

"When Master Windu came, I just did what I had become accustomed to doing. I thrashed against threat. It wasn't until I was on the ship, and knew I wasn't in such immediate danger of dying, that I realized all that had happened. That those…creatures found pleasure in harming me. That they never considered that I had a mind, and friends, " He lifted weepy eyes to Qui-Gon, "Family.

"I was still wary of everything around me. But I couldn't find the strength to scream anymore. I relived the imprisonment, still fighting, wanting to be alone, s-separate from the pain. Because I knew the pain wouldn't go away easily, and I knew I couldn't deal with it either. 

"So it felt better _not_ to feel. To just be numb to it." He sniffled. "I guess that didn't work, did it?"

"Oh Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon sighed sadly. "I understand why you did it. No man--Jedi or not--could resist the aftereffects of such abuse. You continue to be an inspiration to this Order, and to me. You can't be blamed for trying to defend yourself."

Obi-Wan stared wide-eyed into the shadows. "Then why do I blame myself?" He rasped, and it had all the shivering shock of a revelation.

Qui-Gon calmly stroked the ends of his hair. "You shouldn't blame yourself. It's natural to blame your captors. Hell, even the Universe. But to place the fault on one so irrevocably faultless is wrong. 

"_And _harmful."

Obi-Wan had gone rigid with the last words, the unceasing apprehension stiff in his spine. "I…hate…them…" He ground out, and the dank edges of those nightmare nights were sharp in his tone, hurting him as no crude instrument ever could. He bit down on his bottom lip, knifing into the flesh…but knew he must say it again. "I hate them."

Qui-Gon caught the first runnels of tears with his finger, but soon saw that the purged woe couldn't be wiped away. Not by his hand.

No.

From this moment forward, it was in Obi-Wan's ultimate control. 

In his hands. 

(())

Ugh. Real life so often interferes! I'll try to get an update up quicker next time, but I can' t promise anything. I hate school! 

LuvEwan

(())


	6. Chapter SixPart One

I apologize for the lack of updates, and I assure y'all that I'm not abandoning this fic. I've just been focused on finishing another story, 'Mists of Yesterday', that was started before this. There will be updates more promptly soon. Thank for you reading . -LuvEwan

---

The blankets were thick, soft comforters stuffed with a light filling, cool and fuzzy on the surface, providing a warm that soaked through him. He nuzzled in his makeshift cocoon, the aches in his body diminished, as if lulled into the same balmy stupor his mind currently drifted in. The pillow was worn, a tattered relic of Qui-Gon's that graced the bed since Obi-Wan's early days as an apprentice.

__

Probably before that.

He inhaled slowly, the breath tapering off into a sigh. The material, like everything else in the apartment, carried the scent of his Master. A mixture of aromas, some distinct, others unnamable.

It was, simply, Qui-Gon.

And therefore, beyond definition.

He heard the steady clip of the fan and smiled loosely. Qui-Gon became aware soon into their partnership that Obi-Wan needed a breeze, even a slight stir in the air, to sleep comfortably. 

He was almost tempted to throw off the layers of covers and sheets to truly enjoy the cool swirl in the room, separated from the full chill only by his thin sleep shirt, hair ruffled by the gentle wind.

__

Almost. Obi-Wan curled tighter in the bedspread, eyes flickering shut, lashes laid in colorless curl against his cheeks. 

He was so close to slipping back to sleep, could feel its drowsy fringes teasing him.

But it was too late. He had mused a second too long, and lost the extra time he would have used to wallow in warm oblivion. 

He was completely, utterly, irrevocably awake.

Obi-Wan groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes with the heel of a hand.

The muted spray of the shower explained Qui-Gon's absence. He looked over at the creased blankets beside him and a small smile moved briefly across his lips. 

Even after some hurdles were cleared, his former Master didn't leave him to face the dark alone. 

Obi-Wan maneuvered himself until his legs were dangling off the side of the bed. It had been…many days since he could manage to walk independently. Soreness burned in his calves, the bones forming the curvature of his feet aching. 

But if Qui-Gon had taught him anything, it was that a problem could never be solved by incessant stewing. 

And unless he could somehow fool himself into believing being carried to the lavatory was desirable, Obi-Wan would take heed of that advice. 

Stretching his toes, the Knight stepped onto the warm carpeting. Then, with an ill-suppressed grimace, he shifted all his weight onto his feet, and finally stood.

A painful rush went through his head, but quickly ebbed, along with the accompanying dizziness. 

The room was bathed in muted sunrise, and Obi-Wan welcomed the loss of huge shadows, of darkness that robbed the space of its normal definition.

Yes, because the night brought on demons.

Monsters that hid in the billowing pall, with familiar, sneering faces and snide voices.

And they had their weapons--tools they used to…

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, breathing deeply. _Let it go. Acknowledge it, then let it go._ His gaze became clearer upon opening, his hands only a little tight as he began walking.

The first steps were sharp bursts of discomfort, shooting up his legs, reminding him starkly of their long disuse.

He was tempted to crawl back under the covers.

But instead, he walked on, noticing that with every careful pace, the pain lessened.

---


	7. Six Part Two

Going slowly with this one, while my focus is on two larger fics. But I promised faster updates and that's what you'll get. I just can't guarantee super-long length. ;) I hope it's an enjoyable fic just the same! -LuvEwan 

---

He should have been prepared for it.

After endless, grinding hours, surviving the tormented days locked away from the outside world--crudely torn from _humanity_, Obi-Wan should have expected it. 

Of course he recognized the pain of each lash, the blows sharp and quick, knowing the effects would last far longer.

But he had not, perhaps due to clammy bouts with delirium or the feverish throes of self-delusion, realized the falling whip and its malevolently skilled wielder took care in assuring the agony would echo.

To create ripples of memory embedded in his skin.

Obi-Wan touched a hand to his chest, where a thin, diagonal scar, once angry red, was faded to only a shade darker than his normal ivory pigment.

Bacta did wonders. Any Jedi, of any age, could attest to that.

Yet it couldn't reverse time, nor erase the crucial days between injury and healing.

He would carry these snaking wounds, these testaments of his greatest suffering, forever. 

Quelling a wince, he pulled off the baggy sleep tunic, watching as his mirrored image revealed a half-stranger. 

Someone he'd surely seen before, but in a different place, in a different phase of life and level of reality.

Obi-Wan remembered the chest, muscled and dusted with fine, nearly colorless hairs. But he couldn't recall such uncomfortable prominence of ribs, the rows jutting out and hinting at prolonged deficiency any more than he distinguished the morbid criss-crossing of thread-like scars covering them.

He looked down, running his fingers along the rack of bones.

And felt flashing of that hunger, intense and aching within his starved body.

So easily, Obi-Wan knew, he could let himself be transported back there, reassume the shivery panic that would keep him safe from the threat of poisons.

Slowly, his eyes lifted to his reflection.

__

Yes.

O yes, I would be safe. A skeleton so nicely sheltered and shielded.

He exhaled, close-mouthed.

__

No wonder he's been trying so hard.

Obi-Wan saw a wet glimmer in one clouded eye. He blinked rapidly in response. 

__

There was another jarring surprise…

When had the swirl of azure and emerald in his eyes been reduced to haunting shadow, sheer against bleak, overwhelming gray?

__

Around the same time they got these black smudges under them. He wagered, quirking his lips hopelessly to one side. 

A _half-_stranger. He could still see traces of the Knight of his former existence, the man who had faced death on numerous occasions, but had never felt its cold, stale breath too closely to his soul.

But that man couldn't be completely resurrected, for how could he ever forget the awful sensation of oblivion's desiring sigh? The all-too-tempting promise of eternally extinguished pain?

__

I can't. He grabbed for his garment, growing too cold as the air conditioning began another cycle.

__

Maybe…Maybe I don't want to. 

---

Obi-Wan stopped in front of the door.

It was open, forgotten in the struggles of that first dreadful, hazy night. 

He trailed his hand down the slightly battered frame, remembering when the smooth wood was marked by short, neat slashes of a pen and scribbled dates. 

There were countless times when Obi-Wan doubted his place in his Master's life, when he couldn't accept that maybe he _could_ be worthy of such elite tutelage. 

But, however distanced they were, their link remained, even when it felt dormant within his heart. 

And, there was this.

He smiled faintly.

__

Obi-Wan pressed his fist against his forehead, jotting down a barely legible series of numbers, nibbling absently at his bottom lip. Sitting in the corner of his dimly lit room, atop his bed with back propped by the wall, the boy stared at the gargantuan equation with unmasked frustration.

"Seventy one?…No, that can't be right." He mumbled under his breath.

The door slid open, and Qui-Gon strode inside the small space, surveying the busied youth with a fond expression. "Still working at that?"

Obi-Wan sighed. "Yeah. I'm beginning to wonder if Master Tslaw isn't a Sith in disguise."

The man chuckled. "A common suspicion, I'm sure."

Obi-Wan grinned before returning to the text.

But Qui-Gon's eyes remained on him. He could feel their weight, and succeeded in ignoring it for scant moments. His studious resolve crumbling, he set the stack aside. "Do you think we could spar?" Normally, he wouldn't offer such a suggestion, but his weary defeat against the equation was forcing him to be forward.

Qui-Gon clapped his shoulder. "Perhaps later. Come with me."

Obi-Wan obeyed, standing and following him into the corridor. They didn't move beyond close proximity to his room, and he frowned. "Master?"

Qui-Gon just smiled his soft, rare smile, the kind that defined the lines around his eyes, and set them aglow. "I wanted to start this on your birthday, but I couldn't wait that long."

He would be turning fourteen in three days, and Obi-Wan laughed with confused curiosity. It wasn't often a novice apprentice witnessed the tables turned, the Master displaying such ridiculous impatience!

Qui-Gon produced a mechanical ink pen from his tunic, then braced his apprentice's shoulders with two large, gentle hands. "Now, stand about there." He instructed.

Obi-Wan took little, shuffling steps until he was against the right side of the doorframe.

"Okay." Qui-Gon murmured, stilling the Padawan's head with a hand against a smooth cheek. He grazed the pen over the spiky line of hair, drawing a line across the wood. "There."

Obi-Wan backed away and watched Qui-Gon sign the day and year. 

Then, the man turned to him. "On your birthday, from now on, we'll see how much you've grown." He reached out and teased the cleft of Obi-Wan's chin. "If I can ever wait that long."

It was a tradition both Master and Padawan cherished. The last performance of the ritual was only a few months before Naboo.

Obi-Wan's eyes misted. White paint covered them now. Every milestone, sloshed over with thick, concealing coats. 

"The docents did that while we were en route from Naboo." Qui-Gon explained, strolling over to him, his long hair damp and sleeked out of his face. 

Obi-Wan flushed. 

"I would've stopped them, had I known." He told him in a subdued voice. 

"This isn't my apartment with you anymore." Obi-Wan shrugged, hoping he had successfully downgraded the extent of his disappointment--in Qui-Gon's perspective. "There's no need for them."

"There was no need to be rid of them, either." Qui-Gon touched his shoulder. "I'm glad to see you up."

"It feels much better to move around." The Knight agreed. "Mentally, I mean.

"Because really, I feel like I've run a marathon with Master Yoda strapped to my back."

Qui-Gon released a bark of laughter. "Well, isn't that a pleasant visual!" He guided Obi-Wan to the couch. "But you don't want to overdo it. I'll see what I can do about breakfast."


	8. Chapter Seven

---

Obi-Wan watched as his former Master turned, pulling items from the cooling unit, heating the stove.

Despite the heaviness in his heart, his mouth quirked in a smile. _I must really be in dire shape. His cooking actually seems half-way appetizing. _

Suddenly, Qui-Gon's head snapped up, turning slightly toward the main room. "You know, Obi-Wan, our bond _has_ been quiet since your Knighting--but it's not gone."

Obi-Wan grinned, a ghost of a blush coming over his face. "What? I'd think you'd take that as a compliment."

Qui-Gon snorted, returning his eyes to the stove. 

For a few minutes, Obi-Wan simply sat against the beaten softness of the couch, gathering enough energy to stand. 

Then, with a last look at Qui-Gon, he slipped into the Padawan quarters.

He stood in the center of the room. The carpet was exactly the same, of course. A pale color tan, with thick loops that his feet sunk into. 

His bed had been under the window, in the middle of the back wall. Now it was pushed to the corner, beneath a long shelf of awards, medals and trophies, and a canopy of shadow. 

Obi-Wan took a few steps toward the couch, draped in dark, clouded sapphire where it had once been light azure. But the linens still fell in the same way, the bed still _looked_ like the one of his apprenticeship. He smiled, lowering himself with careful slowness to the edge, only too aware of the fragile health of his body. A band of warm sunlight streaked across the small room, spilling over onto him, chasing away the gooseflesh that had risen on his chilled skin. 

He ran his hand in a circle on the bed.

__

Gods…ten years've passed…and after a few minutes in this room I feel like a kid again. 

Of course he'd spent his first few cycles in the creche, then the next handful in the initiate dorms. Those were the places where he played, where he explored, where he made friends and kept them. 

But _this_ was where he found solace from the ever-increasing rigors of his training. Where he came when the Universe seemed to close in on him, smothering him, squeezing the air from his labored lungs--or when his Master was so far away that it felt like all he had was space…too much.

He would gladly have given his last breath to hear words from the man then. Any words at all. They didn't need to be encouraging, bright sentiments. Hell, a syllable without the taint of indifference would have been enough. But none would come, and eventually Obi-Wan would forfeit, returning to the loving sheets of this bed. Burrowed beneath the covers, head cushioned, he could drift from reality, where his connection with Qui-Gon was a stilted, impersonal necessity, bordering on silence…He could imagine a life where he was more. Where he meant more. 

Obi-Wan blinked, realizing he'd been staring, unseeing, at the ripple he'd made in the duvet. With a pale, slightly trembling hand…

__

Qui-Gon smoothed out the wrinkles in the powder blue comforter, while similar creases remained stubbornly at his brow, chiseled during the last few hours.

Obi-Wan licked his lips slowly, as though the exertion were draining him of his strength. 

Perhaps it was. 

The Padawan gazed up with hopelessly watered eyes at his mentor, seated at the side of the bed. Although his vision was blurred a bit by the stinging moisture, he could decipher the composition of the haggard countenance. His thin lips, pursed tersely, as normal, surrounded by a neat beard. The regal nose, no less dignified by the break down the bridge. And his eyes…Caught in a pool of amber light from the dim glow rod, they looked as though they quivered…

Clearing his throat, Obi-Wan mustered a tired smile. "I-I'm fine now, Master." Force, how that hurt. The letters scraped along his esophagus and he batted down a grimace. He wouldn't let himself appear weak in front of him…If he just blinked a few times, some of the focus returned…And if he held his head this certain way, it didn't feel quite as blisteringly hot in his forehead and cheeks.

Qui-Gon's hand, more giant than usual to Obi-Wan's fevered perspective, brushed across his temple. Then the Jedi dropped it, a frown pulling at his mouth. "No, you're not."

The tone wasn't strident. Not irritated, or even correcting. It was soft, like mellow strums of an instrument stroked in the half-dark. 

Obi-Wan forced his drooping, itchy eyes to stay centered. He didn't speak, didn't so much as move, for fear he would shatter this unexpected moment. 

He WOULD wreck the beauty, he knew. Eventually it would rupture and he'd be left to scramble for the shards, to hold on dismal, lonely days, trying to ignore the way they cut him.

But for now, it was pristine. 

He watched as Qui-Gon retreated from the room, throwing a twin shadow on the wall. Obi-Wan laid, waiting, hoping, that this wasn't some cruel fault in his thinking. His Master was_ concerned, wasn't he? He _was_ coming back?_

Obi-Wan took a corner of the bedspread in his hand, twisting it between his sweaty palm and fingers. He didn't mean for Qui-Gon to discover his illness. He had been--or at least, he thought he had been--quiet when he coughed. He dampened his temperature with use of self-healing Force techniques, and it worked for awhile. For the past several days, Qui-Gon Jinn was oblivious to his Padawan's spiking fever, his raw, reddened throat and the general nausea that attacked him constantly. 

But even someone as painfully careful as he was couldn't conceal it forever. After struggling through tonight's dinner, he rushed to the lavatory, where he had the unlucky chance to taste it all over again, as it was purged by his frail system. Worse, Qui-Gon had been standing at the door the entire time, his hand bracing the frame, as though he were caught between staying and--leaving? 

Obi-Wan had rested his sweltering face against the cool seat, panting. Then he was surprised by the two arms that enfolded him, that lifted him from the freezing washroom floor and carried him into his quarters. 

He was settled under the sheets, puzzled by his shivering when his face was so blasted warm, and his damp hair was quickly combed out of his eyes. Exhausted, he stayed huddled for a few minutes before relaxing, loose-limbed, on the mattress. 

Qui-Gon was silent during the short while, never speaking until he argued his Padawan's euphemistic assessment. 

In that…kind voice, almost…

Obi-Wan risked shutting his eyes. Almost parental. And 'almost' certainly didn't mean it was, did it? He exhaled carefully.

A cool, tender feeling against his cheek, and he opened his eyes with bleary confusion.

Qui-Gon was perched beside him on the couch, dabbing a wet, folded cloth on his overheated skin, rubbing his forearm with his free hand. 

Obi-Wan's sore eyelids fluttered. He wanted to understand why he--a deserter of the Order, of his Master- was being shown this sincerity, this gentle care. But honestly, such comprehension could wait. For now, he was content to accept it. 

Relief seeped into his forehead and he sighed. Beyond content.

"Is that better?" Qui-Gon asked, touching lightly on Obi-Wan lips with the cloth. 

Obi-Wan only nodded, bone weary and muddled. The torridity was gone from his face, he could even feel the small breeze of the air conditioning. "Thank you." He whispered.

Qui-Gon hesitated for a split second, then leaned in close, kissing his forehead, a few fingers laying cool against his cheek. "Go to sleep, little one." 

Obi-Wan looked up at the softly candid eyes, and unbidden tears sprung to his own.

Qui-Gon wiped them away, most likely excusing them as reaction to the sickness. "Go to sleep," And it seemed like he had glimpsed the fear in his apprentice's heart, "I'll be right here."

Obi-Wan blinked, gulping down a sore knot in his throat. "O-Okay…Yes, Master."

A smile. "I'll stay right here." 

His eyes fell then, at last, to the sight of his Master, fulfilling that very promise.

Obi-Wan rose from the bed, wiping at his eyes. It was worth it, he reflected as he wandered at a slow gait. It was worth the nights, even the days, of solitary existence, cut off from most of his Master's mind and all of his heart…when he had those few times to cherish.

And it wasn't always a barren relationship. As the years wore on, they grew from an often awkward pair to a fluid, closely knit team, aware of each other's actions before they were begun, tuned to emotions and idle, fly-away thoughts. 

There were obstacles, of course. Disagreements, occasions when Obi-Wan was nearly convinced of his initial view of where he stood in his Master's life, and so many missions of grinding worry and peril.

Obi-Wan studied the room again, brighter as the sun continued to ascend. This was the scenery of much misery. Xanatos, Melida/Dann--Tahl. Unlike his Master, this place wouldn't judge him, wouldn't dream of accusing him. These walls were unconditional acceptance. 

These walls…belonged to Anakin Skywalker now.

A misted expression crossed over his features. Obi-Wan crossed his arms, taking in the array of achievements and mechanical projects populating the space. If the Chosen One turned out to be a true prophecy, an actual being (of which Obi-Wan had yet to be totally convinced) he supposed Skywalker was the embodiment of it. He smiled. The worlds would remember that boy, Obi-Wan suspected. And so they would remember his teacher.

It was all Qui-Gon had ever wanted. His legacy. For one so astute and wise, so powerful and compassionate, it wasn't much to ask. 

Obi-Wan's gaze rounded to the bed again. He hoped young Skywalker didn't need to spend hours hiding from the Universe, as he had. He prayed that the child…well, adult, really…never questioned his position in Qui-Gon's soul. That he had many times where he felt like the center of the great man's universe.

__

You didn't want Xanatos to invade your life…So maybe you shouldn't invade HIS life with him. 

While Obi-Wan and the infamous, corrupted man weren't exactly subjects of wide comparison, the basic idea was the same.

__

I've had my time here…Now it's Anakin's turn.

Obi-Wan smirked, glancing at an area of the wall slightly dented by one of the model starships he assembled as a boy. _But we all leave our mark._

Qui-Gon stood at the door. He held a steaming pot between his hands. "Obi-Wan? You shouldn't be walking around so much until you're well."

__

Yes, Master. "Alright." With a mostly peaceful, albeit small, smile, he followed the man out of the room. 


	9. Chapter Eight

---

Obi-Wan brought a spoonful of thick stew to his mouth. He didn't savor the feeling of food yet, and predicted he wouldn't for awhile longer, but he faintly appreciated the taste as he swallowed. 

Potato and Vielak cheese. His favorite kind.

"You remembered." Obi-Wan smiled, his lips shining from iced tea. 

They were seated at the quaint kitchen table, a plate of pink fruit and citrus slices between them. 

Qui-Gon chose a vibrant lime selection. "How could I forget? I made it every week for the better part of twelve years."

The Knight laughed. "Do you ever prepare it now?"

"Do I _have_ to answer that question?"

A pure deadpan, and Obi-Wan snickered. He was well aware of Qui-Gon's lack of fondness for the particular dish. The fact that it was served, almost religiously, whenever they were grounded at the Temple was a testament to their friendship--and the Master's generosity. 

"Oh, _come on_. This stuff is great…" He had to pause and alleviate the raw itch in his throat with a quick drink. "It contains all the essentials, which is more than can be said for those sweetberry tarts you so enjoy."

Qui-Gon glared at him from across the table. "Sweetberry tarts are a gift from the Force itself--and you _know_ it."

Obi-Wan clamped a hand over his mouth, fearing it would burst in a spray of potatoes and helpless laughter. 

"Please don't stain the tablecloth, Obi-Wan. That would be very uncouth." 

---

For all his vocal adoration of the stew (which Qui-Gon did find, personally, to be vile), Obi-Wan consumed little more than a quarter of a helping, favoring his sweating glass of chilled, weakly brewed tea instead. 

Not much, but in comparison to his phantom appetite of a few days earlier, the young Knight had made leaps and bounds. 

Still, Qui-Gon carried the tray of fruit to the living area, where they both reclined on the sofa, placing it within Obi-Wan's reach. 

Obi-Wan tucked his legs beneath him and stared thoughtfully into the distance. 

The Master frowned. "Something on your mind?"

His blue-gray eyes flickered over to Qui-Gon. "When is your apprentice returning from his mission?"

"A few days." The man sighed through his nostrils and sat straighter. "Apparently, he was a great success."

"I'm glad to hear it." Obi-Wan smiled weakly. "When he _does_ return, I'm sure he'll be anxious to catch up with his Master."

There wasn't an inch of jealousy or bitterness in that dulcet voice, and Qui-Gon forced himself to emulate the example. Of course he wasn't resentful of Anakin's speedy resolution in his assignment. He was quite proud of his current Padawan's skills. But he understood that he was a horrible person…wishing for a slight delay, so that he might have more time to spend with his former student. 

"I don't believe you're capable of being anything less than a wonderful Master." Obi-Wan said from his place beside Qui-Gon, in quiet, supportive reflection. 

Qui-Gon smiled. "This is certainly a change. Wasn't I always the one to pick up on _your_ thoughts?" Then he shook his head with a chuckle. "No. I suppose not…I was just more comfortable commenting on them."

"As is the way of Master and apprentice." Obi-Wan recited, then laughed, his eyes going a little wide. "Gods, I'm starting to sound like the troll."

Qui-Gon clapped his shoulder lightly. "The curse of our generation, I guess…" He paused, his eyes narrowing as he detected a frightening idea budding within the other's mind. "Oh please, Obi-Wan, spare me your imitation of him!"

A peal of silvery laughter. "You see? You can still read my thoughts."

"Thank the Force."

__


	10. Chapter Nine

---

Dusk spread across the skyline, softening the severe edges of the buildings with a violet flush, a hint of a sliver moon materializing in the distance.

Obi-Wan stood at the terrace door, one palm flattened on the handle, providing balance to his recovering frame. To visitors, a Coruscanti sunset could be considered almost mechanical…after all, every season was planned with an unimaginative precision. In the summer, days never simmered too brightly, and winter frosts never turned to blizzards. 

And spring, the breezy era of roseate affection and blooming flowers, was only, in reality, a few squares on the graphed timetable, that would pass without surprise, that would fade from day to night just as it was now, with fabricated color and scheduled beauty.

But, despite the truth of the sight, Obi-Wan could still revel in it. He'd had enough of the unexpected in his life, his fill of shivers and tightly wound stomachs, the dread of _not knowing_, to value this one certainty. 

Because, the Knight knew well, you could never be assured another of these sunsets.

Not in the life of a Jedi.

And not in the life of a nobleman, a baker or anyone else that lived on the stacked levels of the planet.

He had learned to treasure the tender landscape of the moon's ascendance, long before he was shackled in captivity.

Yet, it was only now that he knew that he _could_ live without it, that he could survive and even thrive without the pale lemon glow, if it came to that. 

But it was good to know it _was _there, for the time being. That although nothing was eternal, not his life, not the harmony of most anything, for even the weather could malfunction--his love for the nightfall, that feeling, was.

He couldn't stare at it forever, but he _could_ remember the warm core of it, the many moments spent bathing in its splendor and treasuring its unique balm.

And he could face each day, because he had those recollections of the night.

Obi-Wan smiled, raising a hand to his chest when a small pain struck there.

"You shouldn't be out there, you know."

A soft baritone caused him to turn, and he realized he had opened the arcadia, walked a few paces onto the balcony, all without registering the movements. "Sorry…I guess I was just…wandering."

Qui-Gon only smiled in return, joining him on the small outcropping of the apartment. His companion's face was half-caressed by shadow and he was compelled to touch the other side, where the bruising was all but vanished. "There's nothing wrong with that."

Obi-Wan saw the jewel twinkling in sapphire eyes and sighed. "I've had quite enough time to wander. Through all sorts of plains and---I think I need to step back on course again."

Shade outlined the aged break in the Master's nose, and Obi-Wan thought of all the moments the man had lamented the flaw, while the Padawan secretly admired it, a noble mark that did nothing to mar the surrounding face. It was an exterior reflection of the character that lay beneath. And Obi-Wan hoped that the tiny, threading scars on his own face would someday be regarded in the same way--if he was at all worthy of that sentiment.

"Do you think you're ready?" Qui-Gon asked quietly, unsuccessful in banishing the regret from his voice.

Obi-Wan gave a tiny shrug. "I think I have to be."

A hand rested on his shoulder and remained there. "You know you're welcomed to stay here as long as you need. You're not fully recovered."

"I know." He agreed, looking out at the darkening palate of the city. "But the last part…I guess I need to do on my own." His next words were husky, but he didn't rightly care. "You have your own affairs to return to and I'll have mine, soon enough."

Qui-Gon swallowed. "Anakin would not argue your presence, Obi-Wan. He would understand."

"Perhaps he would. But he's your Padawan now, and he deserves your complete attention." His watering eyes narrowed in a smile. "I know that for a fact.

"And I'm grateful that you devoted your time to helping me." He added.

"I'm glad that I could be there." Qui-Gon brushed a few auburn strands from Obi-Wan's forehead. "Now let's get inside. I _am_ your old Master, and I think I should get to torture you for at least a few more hours."

Obi-Wan chuckled, following him through the doors. 


	11. Chapter Ten

Getting pretty close to the end! 

---

The fan whirled at a slow clip above him, and Obi-Wan watched the progress with slit-thin eyes, his forearm lain across his forehead. He was stretched out on the beaten, caramel colored sofa, so pliant and in tune with his body he felt as though he had sunk into it, and was being cradled, instead of reclining flat on the square cushions.

A hanging lamp was on low power, the glass shade throwing a geometric design on the ceiling, quivering as the lamp's chain twisted and untwisted at the base. 

Qui-Gon strode into the small living room carrying a folded duvet and sheet, topped by a crisp white pillow. "I still don't think this is the best place for you to be sleeping, Obi-Wan. Anakin's bed would be gentler on you." A hint of reprove.

Obi-Wan easily reflected it with a smile. "I'll be fine here."

Qui-Gon sat in the armchair and looked quietly at him.

"Besides," The younger Jedi took a breath, "I think it's more comfortable here anyway."

"On that lumpy thing?"

Obi-Wan snorted and turned onto his stomach, propping his chin on the heel of a hand. "I enjoy the lumps. It took me, what, thirteen years to work them all in just the way I like 'em."

An amused expression crossed the bearded face. "Hmm…Then maybe you should've kept it."

"Ah, no." Obi-Wan grinned. " 'Cuz you see, every time you hit on one of those annoying little lumps, you'll think of me."

"What a sweet gesture, but I don't think I need to get jabbed by one of those dreadful things to remember you." Qui-Gon crossed his arms and had to quell a smile. "After all, I merely have to gaze upon the lovely juice and caffe stains you left on the carpet, the charming scratch on the table--the disemboweled Tramblean statue on my desk shelf."

Obi-Wan's eyes widened. "Oh _gods_! I'd forgotten about that!"

Qui-Gon quirked his lip. "You must have a terrible memory then…Forgetting two entire weeks spent scrubbing the Temple floors with a toothbrush as punishment."

The former apprentice frowned. "It wasn't two weeks. It was only two hours, scrubbing _our_ floors…with a sponge."

"Oh. Well, it _should've _been two weeks. And the toothbrush should've only had one bristle."

Obi-Wan chuckled softly, dropping his head to his arm.

His weariness projected through their link, and Qui-Gon sobered. _He's had enough punishment to last lifetimes. _

"Why don't you sleep in the bed?" He tried again, remembering the sore, bruised limbs and painful scarring. 

Obi-Wan blinked, a somber sheen coming over his eyes. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't just a fraction uncomfortable in that room. It isn't mine anymore."

"You're not intruding on Anakin, if that's what you think, Obi-Wan. He's not here."

"He's not here, but he _will_ be, and he deserves to have everything as it was when he left. And--" He swallowed. "Like I said, it's time I stopped wandering."

Qui-Gon saw that he was resigned to his previous decision. He nodded. "I know. I guess my masterly tendencies took over…I know you're not my Padawan anymore. But in some ways, you'll always be and I'll always worry about you.

"Just as I'll be here, whenever you need me. Anakin's my apprentice now, yes, but the ties I made with my students shouldn't be severed because of that. I'd hope that Ani would see my caring for you during this time, and know that when he's knighted, my relationship with him would be preserved as well. You can still come to me whenever you need to--in friendship, in counsel. I'll always be willing to listen, even if I can't guide you the same as I used to."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Then--" And simply asking was like wrenching tenaciously clinging roots from his soul, "Can I tell you something? Something that happened while-while I was on N'h'ago?"

"You know you can."

Obi-Wan rolled onto his back again and focused on the twirling fan blades, his hands folded on his stomach. "When I'd been imprisoned for awhile, and I was so hungry, so starved, from refusing that food…I felt like I was drifting. My mind, my body. Everything. I was floating away, and it felt _good_, because when I was attached to myself, I could feel the hunger, the pain, the cold. I remembered my training, and I wanted to be grounded. So I thought of my duty, my friends, you. Anything that would bring me back." A wet click in his throat, his eyes trailing from the ceiling to a memory of pure black. "But all those things, tangible as they were, were so far away. Coruscant was light years from where I was and after some time had passed, everything was becoming…it was like those things were just illusions. Nothing felt very real anymore." A single, cool tear fell quickly from the corner of his eye, then slowed as it began to course down his cheek. "And when I could hear d-death…when I could hear it calling me, it was like a lullaby. It was nice and quiet and lulling, as if I were going to sleep after a long insomnia. It was just…release, and despite what I kept telling myself, that was what I truly craved. Not escape, not home. I wanted that release." More tears descended and when they reached his jaw, they slid to his neck. "And I almost had it."

Qui-Gon leaned forward. "What do you mean?" He asked, without pressure.

Obi-Wan sniffed. His eyes and lips trembled. "I…I had the chance to let go. I was so sick and started shutting down. I could've gone along with it, gone to that voice that was calling for me. To a place where those monsters couldn't. Where I could sleep in an oblivion and not hurt anymore. I thought that my strength was gone. I thought I was weak and the fighting had gone on long enough…I thought I was too weak to fight anymore. I became complacent with that voice." His fingers curled up tight. "But then, I stopped myself, right at the last moment, right as my eyes were closing. I wasn't thinking of reasons to live, not even reasons to die.

"I just pulled myself out, to a state where I wasn't considering either stages of being, in a way I hadn't realized existed.

"I wanted to survive, without thinking, without mulling anything over. I fought again--mindlessly."

Qui-Gon moved to sit on the couch, beside Obi-Wan's legs, his hand resting on a covered knee. 

"And I didn't die. I didn't get that release and I didn't die on N'h'ago." Obi-Wan sat up, struggling a moment due to his aching arms. "I knew, for the first time in my life, that it was enough to want to survive. Not for someone or something else, not for an institution or set of beliefs…but for myself. I remember the sweet call of death, but it doesn't remind me of the moments of weakness and longing. It reminds me that I drowned it out. That I was capable of enduring it and conquering it with that instinct." The moisture was drying on his face, his eyes bright, pale cerulean, clear. 

Qui-Gon didn't react. He didn't do much of anything, giving Obi-Wan the space to speak, to move, to do what he wanted without interruption. Independently.

"I know that I must've been like an animal when Master Windu found me. And not much better when I was here at first. It was difficult, coming back to my normal frame of mind, with that new knowledge. Not only that I had survived, but that I could remember, vividly, the lusting sound of death. I'd never experienced something like that before and….thank you for being there, for being here…for making a life beyond pure survival…worth returning to."

Qui-Gon thought he was prepared for the impact of the words, but he discovered he wasn't, still shocked when Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around the rangy body and rested his head on an ample shoulder.

__

Gods…Force, my Padawan…He brought his own arms around Obi-Wan, pressing his head against the other. "Thank you, Obi-Wan. " He rasped. "F-For not giving up."

Obi-Wan pulled back a little. "I know now that I can live when everything else is against me…And I know that you'll be here, whenever you can, to ensure me I did the wise thing….B-Because you were right, Master. Ties can't be severed. You're a part of me, a part of why I survived…even when I didn't know it. I wasn't thinking of you, but it didn't matter, because you're with me to my core. Thank you."

Qui-Gon braced his face, and pressed a kiss between his brows. "And you're with me. We'll survive for ourselves…and in doing that, survive for each other." He propped his back against the coach, his embrace steady. 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, hearing the phantom song…and knowing, at last, that although it was with him, it couldn't touch him.


	12. Conclusion

My sincere apologies to my readers. This has been completed for months, but for some reason, I forgot to post this last bit on this site. Sorry again for the mistake, and thank you so much for reading.

---

Warmth touched his cheek, seeping through his eyelids and Qui-Gon sat up. It was well into the night, but the lamp had been forgotten in their exhaustion and now glared at the Master from its place above him.

Qui-Gon began to turn his hand languidly in the offender's direction, but then he felt a shifting against his opposite arm, where Obi-Wan was deeply asleep.

Qui-Gon smiled, drawing a few hairs out of the young face with long, careful fingers. He lowered the sleeping form to the pillow, then stood, replacing the legs where they had been, and draped him in both the sheet and duvet.

A shaft of luminescence hovered around Obi-Wan's visage and Qui-Gon was still, studying the miraculous changes that his one-time apprentice had undergone in such a short while.

It was breathtaking to look down at him, and see a mostly healthy figure where a mere few days ago had been a shaky, wan shell, too drained to walk, too haunted to sleep in peace.

__

Had it only been a few days since Mace brought Obi-Wan there, in his paper-thin hospital gown, since Qui-Gon took the battered body in his arms and laid him on that self-same couch, keeping close to stave off the endless nightmares?

Obi-Wan Kenobi had truly come full circle during his recovery, beginning and ending the journey on the couch he proudly broke in, waxen face to flushed, frightened tears to those of relief…and joy.

And while he wasn't finished with his ultimate recuperation, the largest bounds had already been made.

Qui-Gon bent down and settled the blankets around Obi-Wan's shoulders.

Sea-sprayed eyes flickered open. "Mmph…Thank you." He whispered, smiling faintly, barely awake.

Qui-Gon waited for them to close again before waving the lights off. He returned to the armchair and tipped his head against the backing, slipping to sleep and to contentment.

---

Obi-Wan took a shallow drink from his tumbler, then pursed his lips, setting it aside. The remnants of the breakfast scattered the kitchen table, half-full serving plates, crumpled napkins.

And small, bittersweet, knowing smiles.

Qui-Gon had brought him a brand new set of tunics and leggings, handing them to Obi-Wan, explaining that the Knight would raise quite a few eyebrows if he walked out of the apartment in a hospice robe that didn't tie very satisfactorily in the back.

Now he sat in the crisp uniform, smoothing his hands over the fabric, hardly able to recall the last time he was dressed in the traditional Jedi garb. It felt clean, like wrapping himself in a fresh day, in the manifestation of a forgiving sunrise.

Qui-Gon looked at him from across the table. "I see your appetite's improved since only yesterday." He surveyed with an approving, proud nod. "Pretty soon, you'll be back to your usual Bantha-sized intake of food."

Obi-Wan laughed lightly. "You're one to talk."

Qui-Gon pulled back from the table and folded his arms. "I'll choose to ignore that comment."

"Smart man." Obi-Wan grinned. "And, I'll have you know, I need to work up my strength. The troll will most likely be sending me on some mission to a far-flung planet a second after I have my medical release."

It was meant in mirth, but the Master could sense the underlying tinges of sadness, the acknowledgment of a lifetime of upheaval and sacrifice.

But he couldn't blame Obi-Wan for his methods--the entire morning, they skirted the issue of his departure with puns and sarcasm. Perhaps it wasn't the best way to handle things, but it had been in Obi-Wan's nature all his life…

And if it relieved even the tiniest portion of their sorrow, Qui-Gon was more than willing to go along with it.

Yet their private little hourglass was running low, the final precious grains sifting out, adding to the desolate mound rising that would outweigh their desire to remain in a simple, familial existence. He could turn it over, to reverse the process, but it wouldn't stay, for the sand would always be there, that taunting pile, in their minds.

He glanced at Obi-Wan in the silence, and his theory was solidified. The blue-gray eyes were dry, but with the hint of a distant mist in their depths.

"Remember what I told you, Padawan." He said, standing. "We don't have to be strangers."

Obi-Wan rose and slid on his cloak that had been thrown over the couch arm. Over the pristine clothes, it was well-worn and softened by years, the evening and night to their sunrise.

Stopping at the front door, he felt complete, looking at the apartment, then at Qui-Gon. "We could never be strangers." Obi-Wan murmured. "It's just not possible, my Master."

Qui-Gon traced the healed jaw with a finger, seeing a child with a short, ginger braid, a teenager with longer plaits, a man. "I suppose it's not, is it?"

But it didn't prevent the aching swell in his heart as Obi-Wan embraced him, his head tucked under Qui-Gon's chin. "I love you, you know."

Obi-Wan drew away, and felt the exultation of certainty. "I know."

---

Qui-Gon caught sight of his apprentice and smiled.

Anakin waved, carrying his travel pack and a grin. He crossed the gleaming hangar floor and met his waiting Master.

---

Obi-Wan sunk into his chair in his apartment, letting out a weary breath. The walls were untouched, the carpeting was relatively new.

But it didn't matter.

He possessed the warmth, the familiarity.

And it could spread to anywhere he needed.

****

THE END.


End file.
